Born in the Wrong Body
by GeniusTransDude
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has always known that he was a boy but it takes a while for other people to catch up. He hates the dresses his mother forces him to wear and his long curly brown hair. He hated that he looked like a girl.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock was annoyed. He was sitting, sulking in the corner of the room. His mother had dragged him along to another social event to be shown off like a doll. Worse than that was that she made him wear a dress. Sherlock despises dresses. He hates the way people smile, ruffle his hair and told him what a cute girl he was. That's right you heard me a 'girl'. The word was like acid to Sherlock for he knew that he was a boy. The problem was that no one else knew. Not even his big brother Mycroft. Sherlock Holmes was living a fake life. Sherlock Holmes is a boy.

Mycroft adored his little sister. She was the apple of his eye. He always knew there was something unique about her. He taught her everything she knew. Which is quite a lot. Sherlock is incredibly smart and picks things up very quickly. Mycroft was always willing to indulge her curiosity and interest in the world around her. Even if the constant questions were tiresome. He always tried to answer them though. But one day his little sister asked him a question he did not know how to answer.

"Mycroft, why am I a freak?" That stunned the 11 year old into silence. He was horrified that his care-free little sister thought of herself that way. Where did she even learn such a word? Did someone call her that? He wanted to have been able to reassure the young girl that no she was not a freak. Tell her that she was in fact an amazing person. But he could not. He did not. Instead he stormed out of the room in search of their parents. Furious at the thought that they would call their own daughter a freak. He knew that they were the guilty culprits as he knew of their intolerance to the small girl. They did not like that she was smart and feisty and that she acted like a boy. Mycroft and the small collection of serving staff worked hard to protect Sherlock.


	2. Chapter 2

OV*

Sherinford Holmes was drunk. These days he always seemed to be drunk. Mycroft hated it. He has always been a violent drunk. It got worse after Sherlock was born. He hated her. He either ignores her for days or beats and insults her. There was no in between. Sherlock has learned to avoid him. Most of the time it works, but sometimes Mycroft is left cleaning up the pieces of his broken sister. Their mother was no better. She had lost touch from reality a long time ago. She spends most of her time in her bed. She would just lie there for days. Only eating if Mycroft forced it down her throat. His parents did not share a room so the couple rarely were ever in the same room let alone talk to each other. So mycroft was left looking after his younger sister. It was a tough ordeal for the eleven year old boy. It was a struggle having been forced to mature far too soon. He was depressed and struggled to sleep without knowing Sherlock was safe. Most nights they shared a bed. They had their own rooms but they preferred to stay close. Mycroft was very protective of his sister. Today Mycroft decided that he could not take any more of this abuse. He confronted his father.

Mycroft marched into his fathers study. Slamming the doors open and shouting his fathers name. The man was at his desk. A glass of whisky and a choking smell of a recently lit cigar. Books and papers were pilled on and around the solid oak desk. At one point it was beautiful, with intricate patterns and a lovely smooth surface. Now it is covered in stains and has lost all its shine. Sherrinford used to be a lecturer at Cambridge, now he is a drunk old man. He had lost all of his dignity and power. Because of this he now abuses the power he has over his children. He hurts them and until now neither of them have fought back. but today was different. Today Mycroft will stand up to his father. He will no longer stand for the abuse. If needs be Mycroft would run away with Sherlock and start new lives far away from their parents. They would be safer that way.

Mycroft grabbed the bottle of whisky of his fathers desk and chucked it to the far side of them were it smashed and left a dent in the wall. His father was outraged at the insolence he was receiving from his disrespectful son. The man rounded the desk to tower over the boy. He screamed at him for his stupidity and slapped him hard enough for him to collide with the floor. Mycroft was scared. Here he was on the floor his lip cut and a bruise forming on his cheek. He glanced up at his father who had not stopped screaming at him. He felt weak and small and like he was easily broken. In a way he was. He was weak for not standing up to him sooner. He was eleven years old for god sakes. He should be better than this. He thought of his poor sister. Who used to be filled with joy and innocence but her eyes were dark and uncaring. She had grown numb. She started to hate herself. She saw herself as a freak. He will save his sister. He had to. That train of thought gave him a boost of energy. He stood up and smiled before punching his father. The man was shocked unsure of what to do. This gave Mycroft an advantage. He pushed his father to the ground. He flung himself onto his chest and punched the elders face. He did that again, and again, and again. His face was bloodied and bruised. He was too drunk to fight back. His breathing was shallow and his skin sickeningly pale. His eyelids fluttered as he desperately gasped for breath. His lips blue and unwilling to move without sharp shooting pain spreading across his face. Soon his eyes closed and his chest stopped moving. But Mycroft continued to beat his father. He was too lost in rage to notice that his father was no longer breathing.

It took his fathers butler pulling him off the body for him to stop. Mycroft collapsed in the elder mans arms. He was sobbing into the mans shoulder. The man Alfred was a pleasant fellow who only agreed to work for the Holmes to keep an eye on Mycroft. He cared for the boy like he was his own son. He was the one that went to all of Mycroft's Parents evenings. He was there for when he came home from school crying after being bullied. He was there for him when Mycroft wanted someone to play games with. He would make his dinner and tuck him in at night. Mycroft adored Alfred. He was the father he always wanted. And when Sherlock came along, Alfred acted like a father to her. He always loved the adventurous young girl with the most intriguing mind. She was an amazing little girl.

*Alfred's POV*

Alfred was in tears when he walked in on Mycroft beating his father beyond death. Not because he ever liked the man. But because he knew that it would always haunt Mycroft till the day he died. He was heartbroken for the young man. It was not like he could even go to his mother for support as she barely remembered that she had children. He was all they had. He swore that day that he would protect them with his life. He was desperate to get them out of this horrible mansion. He wished that they could have had a happy start to life. He was thinking all this as he was carrying the young boy up to his room. He placed him gently on the bed and tucked the sheets around him. He smiled sadly down at him. He was struggling to comprehend the situation. He stood for a few more minutes before going to find Sherlock. She was probably hiding somewhere in her room like usual. She loved exploring but she still loved to hide in a cupboard and just let her mind go wild. He was dreading having to tell her the bad news. He knew that she would be happy that he could not hurt her again but sad because all hope was lost of him ever being a nice father to her. She would also be very sad for her brother as the two were very close and she hates it when her 'Mycie' was sad. It would be very hard for the young girl to understand the situation. Regardless of her intelligence she was still only four years old.

As suspected Sherlock was hiding in her cupboard. She was mumbling to herself and fiddling with a small blanket. It was her favourite. Her mother had given it to her before she started hiding in her room. It is the only good memory she had of her mother. Alfred crouched down beside her and stroked her knee, that managed to get her attention. The young girl started crying. Sometimes he forgot how smart the young girl was. She could tell that he was upset. He hugged her, Sherlock curled inwards and snuggled into his arms. He held her and stroked her hair until she eventually fell asleep. He did not have the guts to tell her. He would keep it a secret for as long as he could. For now his main goal was to get them out of the house. But that would have to wait until tomorrow as it was already very late and he was tired after such a hard and long day.


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft woke up blearily and for a second he almost forgot that he had murdered his own father. With the sun shining on his face, his soft sheets feeling lovely and smooth. He was almost happy but unfortunately reality sunk back in. He was no longer sleeping on a bed of clouds but crashing to the cold hard ground. Not even his little sister curled up beside him after sneaking into his room last night. He cried as he observed the young girl. She looked tired and miserable. She was sucking on her thumb and silently crying into the mattress. He felt terrible. He knew that his breakdown yesterday had affected her badly. He was struggling to place the pieces of the puzzle in his head. Everything was overwhelming and he could not stop his mind racing, attacking him, forcing him to think of how he was now a murderer. He felt sick. He jumped out of bed and rushed to the bathroom. He vomited until he was dry heaving. His throat bleeding and burning of acid. He felt terrible.

Mycroft rested on the bathroom floor for well over half an hour before he returned to his room. His sister was still asleep on his bed. He walked towards his cupboard, pulled out a duffel bag and stuffed any essential items for him and his sister if they ever needed to leave in an emergency. He was just zipping up the bag when he heard his sister wake up. He turned to look at her. She was looking at him with confusion. He knew that he had to explain what happened to her. He was not looking forward to this. How do you tell a four year old that you had killed their father. Mycroft placed the bag down and went over to sit next to his little sister.

"Sherlock. I need to tell you something. This is very hard for me so please just listen. Our father he...ummm...he died." Mycroft struggled to keep his composure. He was close to crying. What was most horrifying to him was the lack of reaction from the young girl. Mycroft knew then that it was the right decision for them to leave this house as fast they could. He would not allow Sherlock to turn into their mother. Into a blank and emotionless robot. He wanted his little sister back. He could not bear the thought of him losing her. Just at that moment Alfred walked into the room. He looked nervous but determined.

"Get dressed quickly. We need to leave. Someone in the house called the police about your fathers death. We need to leave before they get here." Alfred was rushing towards Sherlock helping the girl get dressed. Mycroft grabbed a hoodie and a pair of jeans. He got dressed in his bathroom. Tears rolling down his face. How could this have happened. When he exited the bathroom. Sherlock and Alfred were standing with Alfred holding Sherlock's hand with the duffell bag on his shoulder. The walk to the back door was intense and uncomfortable. Sherlock spent the whole time crying. She was scared, leaving the place where she had lived all her life. Mycroft on the other hand felt numb and emotionless. He walked through the halls of the mansion with little a care. Once they had left the building they walked over to Alfreds Car. Alfred placed the duffel bag in the boot. Sherlock climbed into the back seat next to Mycroft who fell asleep a couple of minutes into the journey

Mycroft blearily opened his eyes. He had a headache and was disorientated. He was lying on a couch with a stay blanket placed on top of him. It took him a while to remember that no he was not lying on his bed at home but instead he was in Alfred's Flat. It was decorated in warm mutual colours. It was nicely furnished with oak furniture. A crackling fire was the highlight of the room. It was illuminating the room in a nice glow. A cat lay sprawled out infront of the fire. Basking in the warmth. Mycroft did not want this moment to end.

Sherlock crept into the room. She was looking nervous and frightened."Mycie Can i sleep next to you?" Of course he could not say no to the young girl. He pushed back the sheets and allowed his little sister to lie next to him. It was not long before the two of them were fast asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock POV

*ONE MONTH LATER*

Sherlock had only been staying at Alfred's a month but already they felt happier than they had ever felt. He got his hair cut short and Alfred got him new clothes from the boys section of the store. He knew that Alfred just thought he was a tomboy but he was still happy to be able to wear jeans instead of skirts. He could tell that his older brother was happier. He was going to counselling and getting help for his depression. Alfred had enrolled them into the local school. Sherlock had even made a friend. It was fair to say that life was amazing but with every high must come a fall. He cursed himself for thinking that he could ever lead a happy life. That is how Sherlock ended up curled up on Alfred's lap while they were sitting in a hospital waiting room. At that moment Sherlock broke down. At that moment Sherlock realized that showing emotion was a weakness. He made a promise to be stronger. He had to be strong for his brother.

*PRESENT TIME* Mycrofts POV

Mycroft woke up to his little sister doodling on his face. In any other circumstance he would be annoyed but it was nice to see his little sister playing again. It made a lovely change to seeing her cowering in fear at every small movement. He smiled and stroked her hair. In that moment he was content. He sat up yawning. He could not remember the last time he had a good night's sleep. He nudged his sister off of him and proceed to the bathroom to brush his teeth and make his hair semi-presentable. This was the start of his new life and he was going to make it a good one. If not for him then at least for his sister. She deserved happiness.


	5. Chapter 5

*Mycrofts POV*(trigger warning for graphic description of self harm. Please skip if you get triggered by self harm. Do not worry you will not miss anything important.)

He wanted to cry. Killing his own father was really taking its toll on him. He has been putting on weight and not caring about his appearance. He was truly depressed. How could he have killed someone. Even if that someone was his abusive father. He took another person's life. He was only 11. Eleven and he was a murderer. He felt sickened by himself. He gripped the razor blade tightly as he dragged it across his pale thigh. He watched in sick fascination as blood bubbled in a thin red line. He repeated this again and again until his leg was covered in thin red marks. It may not have bled much but it hurt a lot. He could feel the burn as he desperately tried to clean up the blood. He washed his leg before shoving his jeans back on not caring that they would get blood on them or to bandage his leg.

*Sherlock's POV*

Sherlock was worried for his brother. They had been living with Alfred for a couple of days and tomorrow was their first day going to a proper school. They had never been to school before only being home-schooled by special tutor their father would pay for. Sherlock was dreading it. He did not want to go to a school and have people call him a girl. He hated the thought of it. He also knew that his brother would struggle a lot as he found it difficult to talk to people and he was too smart to properly fit in anywhere. He may not have been around other children before but from the way his parents friends would treat us they must be complete idiots. All in all Sherlock was utterly despising the sound of school. It sounded boring and he would not be able to spend time with his brother. He would be all alone.

He wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. He did not want to deal with other people today. He had no clue what to do. He was nervous and nauseous about the idea of spending time with other people. That's when he really started to cry. He tried to muffle his cries but the attempts were useless. "Sherlock, Are you ok?" Alfred asked through the door of his room. He struggled to come up with a response but all that came out was a choked sob. Alfred opened the door and sat down next to him. He was gently stroking his hair. "What's wrong Sherlock?" Alfred asked.

"I..i..don't wanna go to school." Sherlock cried. Stuttering the whole time. He really did not want to have to deal with other people. He was scared people would hurt him. " I don't want to be hurt." Sherlock sobbed into his bed sheets. He was too scared that he would just be labeled a 'freak' again. He knew his father was right about him. I mean a girl can't dress like a boy or have short hair. He should just give up. He did not even know why he bothered anymore. He should just stop trying. The only thing keeping him alive was his brother. He needed to be strong for him. To be a good little brother. He just wished he was not so weak that he could not even tell him that his perfect little sister was a boy.

"Its okay Sherlock. No one will hurt you. Never again. I know you are feeling nervous about school but it will be fine." Alfred told him. Sherlock did not believe him. He knew that this was a huge mistake.

Mycroft was in a lot of pain. His leg was hurting from when he cut it. He just wanted to cry. How could he be so stupid. He did not want anyone to find out what he did. He knew that he made a huge mistake. He was terrified about going to school. He knows that people will think he is a crazy freak. He was way too smart for his age and he struggled to talk to people. He was scared that people would bully him. What if anyone found out his horrible secret. What if they found out how much he hated himself? Or the fact that his sister looked like a boy. He just wanted the ground to swallow him up. Life was too much of a chore. Why did he even bother trying? Why does life have to be this hard?


	6. Chapter 6

Mycroft woke with a jerk, wincing as the cuts on his leg snagged on his trousers. He muffled his cries and rushed to the bathroom. His first day of school and it was already going terribly. He knew that today was only going to be worse. The thought of spending time with people his own age sounded dreary. He knew that the other kids would hate him. He was different. People generally do not like different. His only hope was that Sherlock did not get hurt. His sister is an awkward girl. Never one for talking and very much her own person. She was too smart for her own good. Most days Sherlock could be found digging up the garden to study the animals and unusual even to himself. He would be furious with himself if he allowed her to get hurt.

"Mycroft! Time to get up. You have school today remember." Alfred called through the door to his bedroom. He groaned and rushed to get ready. He shoved a couple of books into a bag to read when he was bored. He knew that he was smarter than most people. He was not one to boast but he knew that his intelligence was hard to rival. He sighed and shoved in a notebook and a random assortment of stationary. He hoped that he was well enough prepared. He really had no clue what to expect from this place. He knew that his clothes alone would make him stick out like a sore thumb. He assumed most eleven year old's don't go to school with a blazer and dress shoes. The school dress code was smart but not that strict. White shirt, black trousers and a green jumper. He however found comfort in suits. It was all he was really used to growing up in the Holmes family.

Mycroft could feel his heart beating in his chest as he looked up to the entrance of his new school. He looked over to his sister who was nervously biting on her fingers. He tapped her shoulder to get her to stop. She never realizes that she does it. It's kind of instinct really. Probably as natural as breathing to her if her calloused hands had anything to say for it. He sighed and attempted to steady his breathing as a gaggle of hyper kids passed by them to go play with their friends. Grabbing his sisters hand they made their way into the building.

A middle aged woman chewing on a pen staring intently at something on her desk greeted them and told them to sit down. Mycroft looked around the room before seeing a couple of chairs next to a room he presumed was the headteachers office. Time seemed to pass by dreadfully slowly as he sat on the uncomfortable plastic chair. Finally though the door opened and a chubby man with greying hair and a 'fun' tie that had doodles on it. Really mycroft thought it was just tacky and ridiculous. He hoped that not everyone was like this. Well he could only hope. "Ah you must be the Holmes family." Mycroft desperately tried to tell the man that no Alfred was just a friend but the words did not seem to come out. Instead he just stood up and dusted off his trousers before making his way over to the overweight man. He stank of coffee and old cigarettes. Disgusting. Mycroft gagged as the smell enveloped his very being. He did not want to be there. He wished he could run away and just read his books in peace. Unfortunately luck was not on his side and he was stuck here for now. The office was sparsely decorated. A couple of teaching certificates haphazardly attached to the wall. One photo lay on the desk of a woman and two young children. He guessed they were his family. From the looks of it though that photo was taken a long time ago. Something must have happened since then for him to be so sentimental to this one photo. Mycroft was determined to find out what. He was gently guided to one of the seats infront of the cheap wooden desk. The seat was the same as the cheap plastic outside but it felt colder and more uncomfortable. Mycroft squirmed on his chair. Wholly uncomfortable with the whole situation. He suddenly snapped out of his daze when he heard a screech come from not that far behind him. He turned around to see his sister hiding in the corner, hands over ears and screaming. This was not a good start. The woman from reception was back again and gently leading Sherlock out of the room. Being the protective older brother he was he tried to get up to follow but a tight grip on his shoulder stopped him. He looked up to see the headmaster. Toothy grin in place and a sheen of sweat on his brow. He wanted to be sick. Why was this creepy man allowed to work at a school? After some careful thinking he could not come up with a reasonable answer. He may not have been religious but the young man sent a prayer out that he would survive this school year with few incidents.


End file.
